


She Wants Rough

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Possessiveness, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cole and the Inquisitor love each over, but flirtations cast doubt on their love life. Cole explores his thoughts and desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was going to be much larger and more complete. However, my life took a bit of a turn, and I no longer have the will to work on this project. I didn't want it to go to waste, though, so I present to you, my readers, all I managed of this fic.

_Sweat down the neck, saltlick. Fresh snow skin, begging for a footprint, nip, red swollen. If I pull her hair back, swanlike, serpentine, unhinge the jaw, unleash, unquiet._

Cole felt his upper lip curl as he looked over at The Iron Bull. The Ben-Hassrath lounged back, feet up on the table. He took another drink but his gaze never left Herah. The Inquisitor was at the bar, asking the server a few simple questions, sipping her ale instead of downing it. The spirit failed to see exactly what in that moment was attracting Bull; Adaar was beautiful always, but she was not doing anything to illicit such vulgar ideas.

                He whispered the thoughts to himself, tasting Iron Bull’s words and looking at that places he was obsessing over. “ _Grind my pelvis to dust. How much rope to tie her up? Ankles and wrists, rubbed raw, rage in her eyes and temperature rise._ ” Cole licked his lips, swallowing back the wetness in his mouth. He cleared his throat, but nobody seemed to hear him. His spot on these stairs, here in the midnight lighting, was secure. “ _Back and forth, ebb, flow. She wants rough. Wants gentle? Wants it all on the edge of her tongue, screaming at fingers between thighs._ ”

                Herah stretched and bid her farewell, turned away. Cole shuttered at how Iron Bull marveled at that movement. But looking at it himself, he understood. “ _Fingers over ribs like lute strings, song from her throat, thrum, strum my hand over again. Tighten the knots. Muffle mouth. To feel alive making her feel alive…”_ He closed his eyes and repeated the words internally. His own thoughts were different from Bull’s, but they oddly charmed his body into a more powerful surge of heat and jitter.

 

 

Cole sat on the wall, next to Adaar. He rested his hand over hers, his fingertips seeking out all the ligaments in her fingers, marveling at the muscle of even her thumb. Truly, she was a specimen of might. When the sun did not blind, he managed to look upon her face and he loved every scar. They whispered to him in a pleasant way, begging his attention, seeking praise and comfort. The hurt was old, gone, just phantoms on her flesh. And yet he wanted to ease them with his touch, tenderness, the lightest flick of his tongue in a passing kiss.

                He winced, though, overhearing the idle imaginings of Skyhold’s other qunari warrior. Iron Bull was no longer watching lecherously over Herah, to Cole’s relief; he was simply entertaining his mind with her in general. So vivid, the daydreams of a man with eidetic insights, prepared for every situation. How many buttons to undo Herah’s clothes? _Seven; skip four, five. Hang it around her waist, half off, happy or huffing. Happy? Six, seven._ What if she wanted to simulate combat? _Left, right, back and back, bruising blows to the rib bones. Wear down and wary until weary. She drops on the left, bad knee sweep. On her ass, on her._

                He glared back at the tavern. Not the fault of wooden walls, but what they housed. It was not Iron Bull’s place to fantasize about Herah. Perhaps Cole and the Inquisitor were not forthwith about the way they felt about one another, but Herah was a person. She was not a thing that could be split and shared in pieces, passed around and used without damage or consequence. She could love others, yes, but never the same way. Somewhere, distantly was the aching shame from the past that only time would heal. Loyalty and ages.

                Iron Bull was not right.

                He closed his eyes. Herah took her attention from the pigeons feasting below, tilted her head aside and watched the spirit ponder. “Is everything all right, Cole?” Her voice a deep and ancient war-song, yet spoken by an artist’s soul. Low tones, strength, but also sentimentality and concern. She brushed his hair out of his face.

                _Not seven buttons_ , he thought. _Eight buttons. One after another from one to six, a kiss where the loops once held, now apart, open and overt. Love written by lips and teeth, temporary marks marking the descent. Gentler there, below the navel. Last button when she gasps, “Please, yes!”_ Cole hummed in the back of his throat, breathing deep and catching her scent in the breeze. Juice from breakfast, grapes from lunch. _Eighth button is behind the back, barely able to reach, stretching arms and straining wrist. She laughs and sheds the burden herself, straps down and twist and unhitch. Everything falling free, feminine._ Cole smiled at her, his blue eyes at last meeting her dark brown.

                She shimmered for him. He wished he could read her more clearly, understand the reason for the glitter in her gaze and the way she showed every laugh-line in her grin at him. “I was just listening,” he told her, tangling his fingers tighter with hers. “It isn’t as easy now.”

                He wondered if her smile would fade if she could hear Bull, too. Then, blinking, he considered a horrible possibility.

                The Iron Bull was correct.

                She would want more than routine someday, tired of the same old lay, _a sigh and a yawn, idle fingers petting shoulder, moving through blond hair. “You don’t need to,” comes the sweetly smile, sickly rising bile. Familiar tilt of head, half-awake, half-here with hand hovering over cheek. You used to love this_.

                “What are you listening to?” Herah pecked his cheek, mindful of her horns.

                Cole blinked back evidence of concern. Swallowed the choking in his throat. “Just little hurts.”

 

 

Hay wasn’t like Varric liked to write it in the books. It was soft and welcoming there, open arms and slight tickles. Up in the loft of the barn, at least, it was scratchy and grumpy. It would poke Cole again and again when he sat in it to play with the cats, make his skin itch, throw dust in the air that tickled his nose. He wiped his watery eyes. He wasn’t sure why Varric wrote such dirty scenes in places like this; no draw to laying on each other here, let alone by one’s self. A roll in the hay. A roll in itching all over.

                The kitties tired of him, off to catch their next mouse. Keep the healers’ tents clean, sanitary sanctuaries. He slumped against a bag of grain and sighed. The barn felt empty without Blackwall around. Perhaps alone was alright for a moment, though; other people’s thoughts were quieter now, straining his head trying to hear them all, stress until snap. His own ideas were unreasonably loud.

                They buzzed in him, from the mind and down into his chest. Lower sometimes; now. He tipped his hat over his face, marveling at how hot his cheeks were. A familiar warmth, like the pink Herah’s neck turned when he let his ring finger slide across the tight line where her bottom met her thigh.

                He frowned. Was that what she wanted more of? But rougher, more rage and raunchiness. Tight grasps, not just tickles. Holding her bottom firmly in his hand, dig in, nails bite slightly. Nip her breast when she arches her back, pull her hair to keep her there.

                What if that wasn’t good enough? _Women want more than their men give_ , he remembered from one of Iron Bull’s drunken life lessons. Never a lesson intended for Cole, the spirit suspected, and yet here he was. A lady wanted excitement and danger, but such things could not be manufactured save on the pages of naughty books, all of them piled up on Cassandra’s shelves and worn on the edges and spine.  
                Herah’s spine, its lovely curve, haunted Cole. How much different would it look from behind? How much different the tight muscle of her ass if it was in front of him? Dragging his fingernails down her back, just enough to let her know he was in control from here. Lead the dance, lead her to bend and spread her legs further apart. Cole noticed his hand migrating to his pelvis, but didn’t stop himself. No sense in fighting what could not be stopped, and lately his need could not be halted at all. He was already straining in his pants. Cole undid the buttons; that much was entirely harmless.

                Take her braid by the base, wrap the tail around his wrist and lead her like reigns. And she with her hands braced on the wall, sweaty palms, nearly slipping and groaning into the wallpaper. Herah’s gray skin, sheened and slick. His hands busy, his hands were always best when busy. Plunging into her, then curl. _She’s never been this wet before_ , and then the way she would cry out, loud, reverberating in the room.

                Cole ran his thumb over his length and shivered. He let his head fall back against the wooden wall, hat falling off to the side. Easier to breathe this way, eyes closed and Adaar’s broad shoulders in his teeth.

                Her breath hitching, then mewl from behind clenched teeth. _The tide rises and falls, swelling, tsunami wave over the shore. Ship on the horizon. Rock back and forth, capsize. “It’s never been so strong!”_

                Cole lurched forward, hunched and panting. His toes dug into the bottoms of his flat shoes. Knees shaking, chest aching for the longing to hear those words, _but the idea of it,_ oh how that rang in his ears. He could envision every breath of her mindless pleasure-plea. His throbbing intensified to a gripping urgency. His free hand clenched his leg. He swayed back and forth.

                Faster and harder. That was how she wanted it, how he wanted it.

                He felt the perspiration on his neck, the quaver between his legs.

                Cole moaned and sat up straight. The air left his lungs slowly after sound. So many little shivers, all this heat spilling out. He felt tired for a moment, then at peace.

                A surge of determination. He would find what Herah most desired. He would give her the reason to say those words and the means. “ _It’s never been so strong…_ ” he repeated privately, treasuring their possibility.

                He had never been so strongly compelled to obtain his own wants before.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The balcony door was wide open, and no path to her room was locked. It wasn’t that Adaar was expecting somebody; it was just the rush of possibility. She _could_ be caught. How scandalous it would be, the Inquisitor found in the midst of such a degrading moment. She lay in bed and hooked her thumbs in her pants, then shimmied them down around her knees. No need for them to be off completely; if there was going to be a risk of being found, there had to be a chance to hide all the delicious shame away.

                Down against the bed, neck to the pillow. Herah exhaled to chase off the electric charge of her nerves. Time to take that edge far from her mind. She stared up at the ceiling and wetted her lips before allowing a sigh to hiss pass her teeth. Her fingertip hovered just a little left paradise, admiring her own slickness. Even the tiniest brush summoned groans and grunts. Herah let her horns tangle up with the pillow case and stretched out across the bed. She trailed her other hand over her breast, wishing for more tender fingers.

                Wishing for the day of too much winter to be recalled, and for Cole’s careful hands. Even when he was as cold as snow, he had a knack for touching things just right. Not too rough and at the right angle, as if the arousal one felt was a deep and dire hurting need. Adaar remembered the sensation of fullness with him searching inside her, whispering his concerned questions in her pointed ear. “Like this? How does this feel?” Pretending he did not know he was melting her. Pretending not to notice how her hands were gripping anything they could find and her body was betraying her, swaying hips under the mercy of his fingers.

                Herah shuttered and bit into her sleeve to silence an overwhelming coo. The Vashoth tore at the fabric and arched her back. Had it really only been three days since their last fuck? It felt like ages. As if by some trick of magic she was a thousand years without the hand’s passion on her womanhood and longer still without the fullness of somebody else’s hips rolling against hers.

                From the balcony, Cole could see it all but Herah was too enthralled to notice him. He pressed his collar against the cold, stone columns and whispered the few words he could hear in her mind as everything fogged, condensation on a glass. “ _Need… Too much… Harder… Slower… Cole…_ ”

                He smiled and relaxed now, watching her pleasure throes. Herah always had him in mind.

 

 

 

                “What do you think, Boss? Do I have a chance at beating you?” Iron Bull patted his bicep.

                Herah laughed and rolled up her sleeve, then put her elbow down onto the table and her money where her mouth was. “There’s a chance for anything,” she mocked gently. “A chance you could win. A chance a dragon could swoop in and interrupt this. A chance I could cheat and use the Anchor to throw you into a rift.”

                “On second thought, let’s put a raincheck on this!” He laughed that full-belly laugh and passed her another drink. “So, Boss. I’ve been noticing you hanging around Cole a lot lately. How’s the kid doing?”

                She shrugged, giving her companion a long and tired look. “Cole is hardly a child, Bull. That being said, he’s dealing with these changes very well. I think I caught him eating the other day; he wouldn’t admit to it, but I know I saw pastry crumbs.”

                “Good stuff!” Bull raised his mug to hers, a little ‘klink’ between them, then took a mighty swig. “But it’s not quite what I was getting at.” He watched her over the foaming rim, tilting his head to her. Herah knew all too well how this scenario was supposed to play out. She would ask _how did you know_ and he would say _Ben-Hassrath_ and then she would have to go through some long and tedious defense of herself and he wouldn’t even have cared in the first place. So she just smiled crookedly at him and he raised her brow. “You don’t seem too worried about the rumors.”

                “What rumors?”

                “Come on, Boss. I know you’re busy, but even you must hear some whispers.” She shrugged again, shook her head. Iron Bull nodded. “Well, the Chantry Sisters are concerned about Andrastean crap. They still think Cole might be a demon, and they’re worried he’ll ‘possess your body’.”

                Herah snorted.

                “From that look, I’d say he’s already done something a bit like that, eh Boss? Good for him. And you.” Iron Bull put his drink down and folded his hands. “You’re probably going to get a lot of weird looks. Don’t worry about it; people always get scared of shit they can’t understand. But you’re a Vashoth mercenary, so you probably already knew that.”

                Herah stared into her drink, still smiling, wondering if any of this bothered Cole. Their relationship was something kept quiet, spoken in hushed tones in her bedroom and demonstrated in little gestures in their daily routines. Did he worry about the way people stared at them? Did he wish for a louder kind of love?

                “What’s wrong, Boss?”

                “… I was just wondering to myself. Thinking about our next task.”

.

                Cole didn’t mind walking behind Herah during these long trips, but he didn’t much care for this arrangement where Iron Bull was ahead of him, and Dorian too. Maybe they intended to keep her out of his view? Cole couldn’t imagine a reason for it.

                Far more bothersome was their thoughts. Well, Dorian’s thoughts were only little gripes, tiny hurts that were gone as soon as they came. Dirty shoes, beads of sweat on his forehead, a mustache hair that felt out of place. Passing worries were well enough dealt with, and Cole didn’t pay much mind.

                It was Iron Bull he took fault with.

                _Hand cupping, slide down to behind her knee and lift. No better neck than hers in all Seheron. Best tits in Qunandar. A quake from the toes, tighter squeeze, tongue to jawline and ear. I’ll play the Ben-Hassrath and you’ll play Tamassran._

Cole felt his sheathes getting itchy on his back. A knife in hand, two in his boot. He wouldn’t think it again, then. Herah’s muscled waist not for his eyes nor hands, only known to the tender touches of one man here who does not _play_. No false identities in love, no laughter from his mouth, wide and wet, sliding down over her most feminine place. No joke in tasting the inside of her cheeks and moving in her, midnight tide on the Storm Coast, crashing and mighty as feet seem to be dropping away beneath.

                Herah didn’t need to play games. She was already the pinnacle of attraction. Why would she pretend to be a Tamassran when she was Inquisitor? Thousand-fold power, standing above the world, but gentle like the wind, warm summer rain on his tongue, taste of ale and smoked meat. Why would her breasts be paramount when her abs and pelvis were the real wonder? And her arms, lifting sword and shield above her head like some long-suffering god, the sunlight glimmering off the peek of skin between the coat and belt. Waiting for teeth to tease over tepid flesh.

                The Iron Bull did not understand her. And he did not deserve to.

                _Three finger kind of mouth, teeth and drool—_

“You need to _stop_.”

                The group turned collectively to see what Cole was talking about, using such a stony, dark voice. But he looked only at Iron Bull, and the party soon turned their suspicions on the leader of the Chargers. Bull raised a brow. “What exactly was I doing?”

                Cole glared. “Other people can’t hear it, but I can. Overstepping sensual into sexual, not even strange to imagine, but for me it _is_. She loves someone else, and _I love her_!”

                “Cole!” Herah turned, looking shocked but not all together disapproving. Only unexpecting, unveiling her emotions. Dorian, wore the mein of a man who had stepped into a realm of juicy drama.

                The spirit watched Adaar, nervous. Was that wrong? Had he broken another one of those, what did they call them? _Social norms_? He wished he could get in her head like others, but she was sealed off, below the surface he could press his palms against, the overwhelming song of the fade drowning out all the hurt he wanted to take away. He turned his attention back to Iron Bull. He was smiling. This was not the time for smiling. “Herah is _not_ like that. She is not what you imagine, but better, lofty and tender both. If she wanted you, she would say so.”

                Iron Bull laughed aloud, hands on his hips, grinning at Cole. “No kidding? Oh, kid…” He shook his head. “I’m proud of you.”

                “… You’re… proud that I’m angry.”

                “Yep.” He knelt a little to get a good view Cole’s face, still shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat. “You treat her good. Couldn’t wish for anything better for the Boss. I’ll try to keep my attention elsewhere for you.”

                “I… Thank you.” He looked back at Herah, who had wandered a few paces back but was smiling boldly. He hurried over to her side as Dorian murmured something to Bull about behaving and what exactly had set the spirit off. Cole thought to slip his hand into Adaar’s, but doubting himself, he only brushed her fingers before dropping his hand. Was she laughing at him? Had he been too foolish?

                Her kiss felt like heaven on his cheek. She stayed bent low, leaving her lip-balm marks on his forehead and his jaw. “Thank you, Cole. I’m glad you were forward about this.”

                He nuzzled noses with her.

                “Look at how cute they are! Like a couple of nugs in jumpers!” Dorian chuckled, passing the lovebirds by. “Come on, then. You’ll have to stop stargazing in each other’s eyes if we’re going to make it to camp before dark.”

                Cole followed behind the Inquisitor for the rest of their walk, mood uplifting, happier to hear Iron Bull wondering dirty things about Dorian than about Herah.

 

               

                Nails leaving lighter-colored lines down back, down sides. Scrape it away, her fears and her worry. Cole sunk his teeth into her hip, then licked the mark away while she cried out his name. “Where did you learn to do this?”

                “I didn’t.” He nipped lower and closer, gnawing his way down to the very edge of her. Herah held her hand over her mouth. “ _Bursting at the seams, tenderness tumbling from touches._ _One more ounce and flood._ Then I won’t touch.”

                Cole pulled away and the Inquisitor gaped, wide-eyed at the spirit. Her hand twitched towards his hair, wondering if she could get away with forcing him back down, holding his beautiful face against her womanhood until he lapped away all trace of need. He wiped the wetness from his lips and smiled, a gentle wickedness in his gaze. Adaar quivered in silence a moment. “We can finish later,” he quipped.

                “Wh… what?”

                Cole kissed her neck up to the jaw. Adaar felt his lips against the rumble in her throat. “It’s called teasing,” he informed.


End file.
